


An Fhirinn

by Uniasus



Series: Veritas [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, FYI, Gen, Magic, Missing Scene, Winter, does it count as a major character death warning if said character comes back to life?, this is all over the place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd seen sorcerers overextend themselves before. And in that moment she watched Merlin do the same. All his spells stopped as he collapsed onto the floor. The house went dark and cold and she feared Merlin would do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Immortal’s Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter comes early and fast in Ealdor. Hunith knows she shouldn't rely as much as she is on Merlin's magic - he's two. And then worst happens.

Even before the first snowfall, Hunith knew this winter would be harsh. The spring rains were late and the crops were slow to grow. Add an early frost, and the growing season had been shortened on both ends. The harvest had been pitiful before the local lord came to collect the taxes; small yields and not fully ripe.

She started rationing day one. 

At least the snows didn’t come early on the heels of the frost. The cold however stayed and never left. Hunith boarded the windows, stuffed cloth underneath the door, and collected wood and peat. Merlin did what he could to help, but at age two there was little he could do.

He carried a few sticks. He heated the rocks they put in their bed at night. He made their thin coats warm.

All of this used magic, of course. Despite her fear for Merlin’s life, Hunith had to admit her son’s magic was handy. He could boil the kettle for tea, or the pot for stew, without using their precious wood. He could keep them warmer than Hunith expected to be.

They curled up together at night, Hunith wrapping around Merlin’s little body, and she told him stories of knights and dragons and honorable kings. Merlin giggled and smiled, using his magic to reheat the stones at their feet. 

Hunith knew magic, she came from Gedreth after all, and so watched Merlin’s levels. They seemed near infinite, keeping them much warmer than she expected. No matter how many rocks he heated or pots of stew he boiled, he gave no sign of burning out.

“I know he’s a warlock,” Lionors said one evening, watching Will and Merlin play, “but even this is unnatural. Hunith, you haven’t touched your wood pile in weeks. People noticed.”

Hunith frowned, turning her attention from her sewing to the two toddlers. She did her best to hide Merlin’s magic, but with mixed success. Babies know only wants and needs and Merlin’s magic had ensured he gotten most of them. Essiter was no Gedreth, but the country wasn’t against magic like Camelot was. Not yet, anyway. Uther kept pushing his anti-magic agenda, killing sorcerers and swaying his neighbors into doing the same. And Ealdor had belonged to Camelot just two years ago.

For now, no one had spoken to her of Merlin’s magic. It was Ealdor’s secret. Safe because it was unacknowledged. If things would stay that way, Hunith had no idea. Especially if Merlin continued to showcase talent far beyond the average sorcerer.

“Maybe you should take some of our wood,” she suggested to Lionors. “Seeing as we don’t need it.”

Her old maid shook her head. “Maybe, just start bringing it in? Give the impression that Merlin reached his limit?”

Hunith thought it was a good idea.

* * *

Imbolc was cold and full of snow. There was no effort to celebrate the holiday in the main square or one of the barns. Ealdor’s pheasants couldn’t leave their houses, not with the snow reaching past the window sills.

Hunith still made an effort to celebrate with Merlin. She pulled out the scented candles. Brought out the last of the dried fruit. Made a full pot of stew for them to share. She hoped spring arrived early, because at this point they’d be reduced to eating broth for the last few weeks of winter. 

She had lost more weight this winter than she wanted, and Merlin had begged the last week for one extra carrot, one extra spoonful. They weren’t starving, but hunger was constant. Given time, she knew she might have to hide the food to keep Merlin from sneaking extra. It would put them at risk of being out before spring. 

But today was a holiday and so they would celebrate with a proper, though small dinner, and small candies.

The stew was almost done, so Hunith reached for the kettle. Merlin had insulated the windows, so she didn’t have to worry about warm air escaping as the slipped her hand between the shutters. She scooped out handfuls of snow from the top of the drift and pushed them into the kettle. When it was full, she placed it on the table in front of Merlin. 

“Boil that for me, love?”

“Course.”

Hunith was a princess of Gedreth. The last princess of Gedreth. She didn’t have magic, but she knew how it worked. She’d seen sorcerers reach their limit. 

Merlin hit his.

His eyes flashed gold, the kettle started to warm up, and then he collapsed sideways off the chair.

“Merlin!” Hunith was at his side in an instant, checking his breathing and pulse. Merlin didn’t know his limits, no one did, and the danger of that was blowing right past it and using up all his energy. Dying.

By the time she finished checking Merlin’s vitals, he was alive thank the gods, Hunith realized how cold and dark the house was. All of Merlin’s spells had died. The windows were drafty. The door moaned from the wind. The candles went out. Hunith’s coat suddenly no longer kept her warm.

“No, no. No.” Hunith tapped Merlin’s cheek in an effort to get him to wake up. “Merlin, love, please. Please, wake up.”

Merlin shivered and curled closer to Hunith. She jumped into action, carrying Merlin to the bed and wrapping him in blankets. The hot rocks were cool. She brought them to the fire pit and then turned to the woodpile by the door. Unlike food, she didn’t have to ration things to burn.

Tossing three logs and a peat patty on the stones, Hunith prayed while she struck the flint. “Thank the Triple Goddess,” she whispered as the peat started to burn.

She took one moment to warm up her hands in front of the flames before retrieving Merlin to set him in front of the hearth. Satisfied her son was just sleeping, Hunith set about getting her house in order. Lighting candles, putting the stew and water within reach of the flames. Every so often she’d pause in her task, rubbing her hands up and down Merlin’s limbs. 

Merlin whimpered, but slept on for a few hours. 

“Mum?” His voice was harsh, his lips chapped. “What?”

“Remember how I told you magic is like an energy well?”

Merlin nodded.

“Well, your well dried up.”

“Will it fill up when the snow melts?”

“With rest and food, it’ll fill up before then.” Hunith kissed Merlin’s nose and encouraged him to eat their Imbolic meal. 

She kept her worries to herself. With their rations, it would take while for Merlin to recover. And in the meantime, they’d have to contend with the cold for the first time all winter. If the snow wasn’t so high, Hunith would walk herself and Merlin over to Lionors and demand to stay there for the rest of the season, Comwell’s superstition of magic be damned. 

Dinner finished, Hunith left the dishes on the table and crawled into bed with Merlin.

* * *

She woke up cold and shivering, Merlin’s tiny fingers icy against her breast from where he had crawled into her shirt during the night. He was pale, lips chapped, and despite the wind that howled through the doors Hunith promised herself Merlin wasn’t allowed to do any more magic until the snow melted.

He had to fully recovered before she’d let him cast again.

Gathering Merlin tighter to her, Hunith cataloged all the spells Merlin had be casting and feeding. Most of the ones on the house had been constant, pulling energy from Merlin every hour, and on top of that he heated the stones and boiled the water. Thinking about it, she was surprised he had kept them all going for so long. Merlin was a warlock, and Hunith knew it came with a huge store of power, but even this was incredible. 

She had put Merlin at risk, not having him recover energy here or there. She was an awful mother. 

Hunith was also terrified. Her little Merlin was more powerful than anyone she knew or read of in the history of Gedreth. He was most likely destiny-touched, called by the gods or the land to complete a task.

What an awful time for destiny to be rearing its head, just as Uther Pendragon’s Purge was tapering off. This was a time for hiding, not sending lights up into the sky. Destiny-touched people lived forever in the stories and were buried before they got old.

“Not you,” Hunith kissed the top of Merlin’s head through her clothes. “We’ll stay here, safe in Ealdor. I won’t let you leave. Destiny will have to find you, I won’t let you go looking for it. I’ve lost everything else. I won’t lose you too.”

* * *

The weather held, if you could call it that. No more snow fell from the sky, the wind still blew but not as harshly. The sun melted the top of the snow, creating a crusty surface, thought it didn’t melt. Hunith was still trapped in her house and Merlin had turned lethargic and cold and still in the past two weeks.

She could not keep him warm, she could not get him to eat as much as he should. Will scampered over the snow crust one day to play, but Merlin just blinked glassy eyes at his friend when Will talked about his Imbolc night.

“Will Merlin go to sleep like Mister Stanton?” Will asked.

Stanton wasn’t the oldest in Ealdor, but he had been the first to succumb to the cold even before the harsh snow fall. His rations and wood had been passed around to the rest of the village, but despite that Hunith believed that when they could properly leave their houses, there would be more stiff bodies to find.

“No, Will. I won’t let Merlin go to sleep like Mister Stanton.”

“Good.”

Hunith sent Will back over the crusty snow, watching to make sure he didn’t fall into a drift, and turned back to Merlin.

* * *

Little toes. Little fingers. Little breaths.

Hunith counted them all, noted when Merlin’s toes and fingers turned blue. Noticed his last breath.

She cried and cried and no one heard her over the wind.

* * *

Three days later, there was a knock on her door. She stared at it, uncomprehending, before slowly letting go of Merlin and moving to the end of the bed. Hunith had just stood up when the door was forced open, Comwell standing there with Lionors behind him and Will on her hip.

“Hunith? He wanted to check on you, on Merlin. Will said he…”

Lionors trailed off as she noticed Hunith’s red eyes, the lack of candles, and the still body on the bed. She rushed forward to check for herself, placing fingers on Merlin’s neck and her ear near the boy’s little mouth.

After a moment, she breathed a sigh of relief. “My Lady, don’t scare me like that. Come, sit, I’ll cook.”

Hunith looked over her shoulder, shocked at Lionors’s behavior.

There laid Merlin, fingers no longer blue, and chest moving.

* * *

Hunith didn’t remember what she told Lionor about the state of her house and her person. Something about Merlin being sick, perhaps. Or Hunith being so. Maybe the slow darkness that can creep into a mind during the middle of winter. Hunith was not sure if Lionors believed any of it, as she insisted on her entire family spending the night in Hunith’s home. 

The air was warm, there was food on the fire. Hunith knew all this and yet ignored it as she sat on the side of her bed and stroked Merlin’s hair off of his forehead.

Merlin had been dead.

And now he wasn’t.

* * *

“Merlin’s destiny-touched,” Hunith confessed two weeks later to Lionors. 

Spring was around the corner, they could break the soil in a month if the weather kept up. Food was better –animals were producing milk and eggs again and the small extra amount was passed around. Merlin, miraculously, was giggling with Will as they played in the corner with wooden blocks. 

“What really happened, before we dug you out?”

Hunith pursed her lips. She couldn’t tell the whole truth, of course. 

“Merlin hit his limit, Lionors. Complete magical exhaustion, and then I was so worried because it was cold and we had to save what we could-“ she broke off with a sob.

Lionors reached across the table to cover Hunith’s hands with her own. “He’s alive, you’re making things worse than they were in your head, My Lady. Merlin was never in true danger. He just slept a lot. You’ve seen it before.”

Yes, the sorcerers of Gedreth had done the same when they exhausted their magic. Hunith had to remind herself that her maid hadn’t seen Merlin’s blue extremities, hadn’t watched his breath slow. 

“I know. A mother’s worry. But Lionors, until then I hadn’t realized just how much magic he’d been using. He kept the house warm, us warm, helped cook. He’s two, untrained. He did all that instinctively, almost constantly, for close to two months.” Hunith gave a quick look at her son then continued, voice low. “I’ve never come across someone who could that. Not even other warlocks. He has to be destiny-touched.”

“Such an honor.” Lionors looked towards Merlin and Will. “But you shouldn’t be surprised. He’s the last of his line, heir to Gedreth’s throne. Maybe he’ll bring your kingdom back to its former glory and bring us home.”

Hunith forced herself to smile. A nice thought, but she couldn’t shake the new fear and dread that wrapped around her feelings for Merlin. Albion had brought him back from the dead. Restoring the Ambrose line to Gedreth could not be that important in the balance and cycle of life and magic.

There was more here. It terrified her. And she couldn’t bear to push some of those feelings on her long-time friend.

“It would be nice to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from a various of thoughts - 1) a future conversation with Lance in Veritas about if Hunith knows Merlin is Emrys 2) the fact that in myths, Merlin is born to a princess though his dad is never known 3) my Veritas plotting that essentially just turned into a history lesson about how Uther won Camelot, how Balinor was involved, what happened with Gedreth....most of that will only be hinted at in Veritas, but I have a few posts on Tumblr (tag Veritas) if you want to read them.


	2. The Old Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone made a comment on Veritas about Leon's character that got me thinking - he's one of those I've done little fleshing out of. I'm mainly basing him off a theory and sense. So I decided for me to write a scene from his pov specifically focusing on his pov. I figured it was worth sharing.

When news of Merlin’s death hits Camelot, Leon feels relief. Everyone knows that upon a sorcerer’s death, all spells and enchantments they have cast fade away. With Merlin dead, Gwaine and Percival will see rightly again. Elyan’s frown will disappear. Gaius’s worry lines will fade and Arthur will understand just what magic is capable of and strive to destroy it. To pick up Uther’s work.

That’s not what happens. Grief seeps into the castle. Gwaine and Percival stare towards the eastern horizon. And when Arthur tells Leon about the boat on the lake shore, the one with half burnt red and blue tunics Arthur covered with his own cloak, Leon might have identified the look in the prince’s eyes as regret.

Leon has seen this before. Betrayal that cuts so deep and so sudden the mind just…stops. He hears it whispered in the hallways, because it’s exactly what happened to Uther.

The only reason the same doesn’t happen to Arthur, Leon is convinced, is because of Gwen’s gentle smiles and Leon’s efforts to keep Arthur on the right track. Persecuting magic.

Arthur might have learned to lead by raiding small druid camps, but Leon lived it. He squired for knights on the campaign, led hunts for sorcerers before Arthur finished his training. As a child, weekly burnings were the highlights of his day. He remembered betting with his friends as to how long the men and women tied to the pyre would last before releasing their first scream.

The Purge started with Ygraine’s death, Arthur can’t remember the fierce hunt for magic users and magic creatures in those first five years. Leon was five when it started, ten when things started to taper and his training began, twenty when he was knighted. By the time Arthur was fighting in battles, most of the magic in Camelot had already been wiped out.

Hunting magic was the lifeblood of a Camelot knight. Keeping the kingdom magic free was the highest priority for King Uther, and so Leon did what he could to make sure Camelot remained so.

Not seeing Merlin for what he had been was a mistake, but one now rectified with his death.

Leon doesn’t understand why Arthur doesn’t send out men to capture Lancelot for trial. Doesn’t understand why despite knowing a servant has hidden his talents, Arthur doesn’t test every servant in the palace. Doesn’t understand why Arthur doesn’t hate this thing that has almost broken him.

Magic is evil. Uther knew this, Leon knows this, Arthur used to know it.

Something is shifting in Camelot, just like Leon feared Merlin had planned to do. Merlin’s whispers in Arthur ears were meant to have the king make choices detrimental to Camelot’s health. But now that Arthur is free of those binds, he isn’t acting the way he should

Leon takes it upon himself to inspect the staff. He enlists the help of a few knights of his generation, servants too. Those who didn’t just fear magic, but had helped make it disappear ten and fifteen and twenty years ago.

George sticks out on day one. Though whether that’s because his skills were that amazing or because as a servant that served Arthur he thus was watched first, Leon doesn’t know. Doesn’t care, either.

George is good at polishing. Very good. And Leon doesn’t believe the reason for it is the thick, grey cream he mixes himself. It’s magic.

Leon throws him in the dungeon. Gaius later declares that George’s cream is as magical as a saddle and politely accuses Leon of being jumpy.

Arthur is not so polite about it.

“You cannot harass my staff because you think they _may_ have magic. You need proof.”

“Proof always comes too late. Besides, sorcerers are experts at hiding. Merlin –“

“I don’t want to hear about Merlin!” Arthur slams his fist on the wall.

“Sire, you used to talk about him a lot. Wondering how he hid his powers, why he started studying magic, why he would go against the law. But Merlin is dead, and it’s possible there are others like him in amongst the staff. This is _Camelot,_ we do not stand for magic. We drive it out –“

“And throw men in the dungeon who have not hurt us? George served my father for years. What harm is using magic to _clean?_ ”

“What harm?” Leon sputters. “Magic corrupts everyone eventually. They start with lies and secrets, practicing however they can, and when they have the power they will attack the citadel. We’ve seen this before Arthur. How many times has Camelot been threatened with magic? And it did drag Morgana-“

“Enough! You have no proof of George using magic. He’s to be released. And you are to stop watching the staff and citizens of the town for signs of magic _Sir_ Leon. Camelot is more than a magicless kingdom. It’s a place of honor and loyalty and strength. That is what we need to focus on, especially since my uncle is planning something.”

Leon bites his tongue. 

“Do you understand, Sir Leon?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” Leon bows and leaves.

He doesn’t understand. Why is Arthur not concerned about magical threats?

Perhaps he is right. There are other more pressing matters. There’s Agravaine’s attempt to remove Gwen from Camelot and why, his potential allies. There’s the status of the crops. Establishing Arthur solidly on the throne. Word of bandits to the east, as well as a strange swelling of Essetir’s population and Leon’s reluctance to send Percival or Gwaine on a patrol to the east for fear they wouldn’t return. There’s Morgana and Morgause.

Petty household magic has nothing on what those women are capable of. Arthur was right – they should not be focusing on sniffing out magic users. They need to focus on sniffing out traitors.

Uther’s kingdom, and now his son’s, will not fall to magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Are more stuff from the Veritas verse gonna end up here? Probably. I have a bunny in my head about how Hunith discovers Merlin is Emrys. It'll come up in conversation in ch 8, but I want to get the whole story down. Beyond that - you're welcome to make requests over on tumblr, but I can't promise I'll publish stuff over here. I have a personal rule that my Ao3 stories must be 1K. Which is sad, because that means most of you probably haven't seen the doppelganger!arthur AU that was in my head all week.


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